


Outstanding in that capacity

by Madgie



Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Making Eyes, Making Out, Sassy John, Teen Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trapped In A Closet, We all saw that saucy look Claire, but not really, so many feels!, so much smoulder, things get heated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 05:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madgie/pseuds/Madgie
Summary: "Wouldn't I be... outstanding in that capacity?"Bender and Claire in that closet. Because I couldn't not.((Originally posted on ff.net))





	Outstanding in that capacity

**Author's Note:**

> Claire and Bender give me so many feels in this film!
> 
> I posted this a few years ago on ff.net. Revisiting it now there's bits I'd tweak, but actually doing it felt wrong to me as I've had so many lovely reviews over the years so I have left it just as it was. I've also kept it T+ rating as no one has ever complained about that rating so it still seemed appropriate.

She just caught the expression that flashed across his face as she slipped in and closed the door; it was brief, and quickly replaced with a smirk as he opted for sarcasm,

" _You lost?"_

She raises her head to shoot him a reproving glare as she leans back against the door. He capitulates, ducking his head, a somewhat rueful smile playing on his lips before looking back at her with that smouldering 'come-hither' look which has her stomach doing back-flips.

_Oh, he wants her all right._ She presses her lips together as she feels a rather unladylike snort of laughter bubbling up - whether it's from nerves, or the fact that she has voluntarily ensconced herself in a closet with John Bender, _of all people_ , she isn't sure... Forget back-flips; her insides are in fucking _knots_ and her mouth is suddenly very dry.

John can't believe what he's seeing… He's been _horrible_ to her; sure, they've had their moments where they've got on, and he reckons if they got past the shit between their so-called 'places' in the school's social strata they could potentially get on great. She isn't a complete airhead, and he digs that. But he'd never _really_ thought he would find himself in this position. Oh, he's _fantasised_ about it all right; she's fucking gorgeous, and so sweet, and everything he wants but can't really admit to wanting… _Of course_ he's thought about it.

And now there she is leaning back against the door, and for the life of him he doesn't know what to do with her. If it had been anyone else he'd have gone off on his usual routine of sarcasm and crude jokes, playing the macho devil-may-care rebel. Not with her. She'd got him. She'd noticed something, and she'd seen through his bullshit and no one else had done that in a long time.

He moves forward so his long legs dangle off the desk and leans towards her,

" _Well, Princess?"_

He feels the smirk spreading across his face,

" _You caught a dose of the muteness off Reynolds or what?"_

" _John..."_

She's pursing her lips and an eyebrow quirks in reprimand, staying where she is against the door. He grins cheekily at her and they stay like that in silence for a few moments longer, a battle of wills waging, and John can feel the tension between them building; he can only hope she feels the same way, that she isn't the bitch he accused her of being.

Sliding off the desk he gives in, but just as he reaches her she slips past him to lean on the desk where he's been huddled. Leaning on one arm against the wall, _close_ , almost touching, he can smell her perfume and as he gazes into her eyes he knows he's fucked beyond a doubt. Hell, he thinks his fate had been sealed even before she'd asked him about believing in the one-guy-one-girl thing… If she asks him that now, he'd have to admit he might be willing to change his answer.

Fuck that, he's _definitely_ willing to change his answer - for the right girl, of course…

He draws back, and looks away in a sudden fit of indecision and suddenly she's leaning forward herself, pressing her lips to that hollow between his collar bone and his neck. She draws back and his eyes find hers, searching her face for something,

" _Why'd you do that?"_

The words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them, and internally he's cursing himself for showing up his insecurity, demanding reassurance. She seems to understand though, and she smiles at him,

" _Cos I knew you wouldn't."_

He needs to say something, but suddenly he's at a loss and he's scrambling to find something appropriate. Finally he settles on what she mentioned earlier about her parents,

" _You know how you said before? About your parents only using you to get back at each other?"_

It's a long shot, but it's the only way he can get something resembling the words he _actually_ wants to say out, and she's looking at him with such hope in her eyes, and he has to finish,

" _Wouldn't I be,"_ he searches for a moment, " _outstanding_ _in that capacity?"_

Her gaze has dropped, and she pauses for a moment before looking at him shyly,

" _Were you really disgusted about what I did with my lipstick?"_

He's kicking himself now; did he really have to be such an _asshole_ about that? He ponders how to answer her without actually telling her what he'd _really_ wanted to do at the sight of her doing that,

" _Truth?"_

" _Truth."_

" _No."_

He nods as he answers, grinning, and tremulously she grins back, and he knows he's forgiven. Slowly he moves his towards her, bringing himself close enough that their lips are all but touching, their noses barely brushing against each other. Her eyelids have fluttered closed, seemingly involuntarily and she's tilted her head back in anticipation. _God, but it feels like he's never felt such intoxicating want for a girl before…_ He brings his face left along her jawline to a spot behind her ear, lips just about skimming her skin, as he softly inhales that scent which is so intrinsically _her_. He can hear her breath hitch, and he smirks with satisfaction at the knowledge that she wants him.

Pressing his lips against that spot on her neck, he feels her gasp and fall back against the table. He's leaning over her properly now with one hand on the desk beside hers to steady himself, thumb hooked over her wrist. The other rests over her hipbone, feeling the patch of soft skin where her blouse has come untucked. She tilts her head back further to give him better access as he works his way back towards her mouth, planting soft, open mouth kisses on the pale white skin of her neck as he does so; her free hand clutches the worn lapels of his shirt. Again he hesitates above her mouth, but this time she doesn't let him get away as she slides her hand up his neck, burying her fingers in his hair, cradling his head, and pulling him down so their lips meet.

_God, it's just as she imagined. That, and more…_ She can feel his arm tightening around her now, pressing her to him; in response she moves _her_ other arm from where it's been, holding her up on with the desk, to slide up his back to clutch the back of his shirt. The hand in his hair drops as she anchors it around the back of his neck, holding him to her, and she feels his other arm wrap itself around her shoulders.

His kisses are searing, and she can't help but part her lips and allow him entrance when she feels his tongue sweeping across the seam of her mouth. She meets him halfway; she doubts it could have been any other way after their day of verbal sparring. When he breaks away for a moment she can't help but whimper in protest, a whimper which soon becomes soft moans as he nips at her neck and vaguely she registers that he's turning them around so that he's seated on the edge of the desk, with her between his long legs, but this thought doesn't last long because, _God_ , he's reached her collar bone and she can't help but arch into him,

" _John…"_ she almost chokes the word out, " _John…_ "

" _Mmm…_ "

He's untucked her shirt all the way now and his hands are sliding up her back, and she doesn't know when he took his gloves off but it feels _so good_ to have his hands on her that it doesn't even matter… The whole damn school could be on fire and she wouldn't care; she strongly suspects he feels the same.

Wrapping both arms around his neck now, she presses her lips to that spot just where his jaw meets his ear and mimics that trail of open mouthed kisses he blazed across hers until their mouths have again engaged in a heated battled of lips and tongues and teeth…

It feels like everything has been building to this, from that somersaulting sensation she's had every time they come across each other in the halls - that intense, heated gaze of his boring into her - to the heat, the wetness at the core of her. She wants… _something_. What that is she's not sure yet but as his hands move over her back, under her bra strap, she thinks they could start with a few of his suggestions from earlier that morning;

_Over the bra, under the blouse, shoes off… hoping to God your parents don't walk in?_

Well, he's got the under the blouse bit covered at least… But how to communicate her want for the rest of it? The ability to communicate anything at this point seems a daunting prospect; words and her mouth are just _not_ happening right now…

One of his hands has slid down to grip her ass, pulling her hips closer to him; she can feel him hard against her, and the knowledge that she's the cause only enhances that odd, moist, heated sensation between her legs.

She's never been this close to a boy before, and yet this detail seems insignificant. She feels good, this feels good, it could feel better, she wants better; _she wants more_.

As John pulls away, he can feel as well as hear her soft wail of protest. He knows she wants more - hell, _he_ wants more. But while he may present himself to the world as rebellious, and devil-may-care, and don't-give-a-shit; John Bender is not the sort of guy to deflower a girl he's only just _really_ met in a dusty storage closet, especially when Richard Vernon could barge in at any moment to torment him some more… No, this needs to stop now before he loses all of what little restraint he has left.

One of his hands is still cupping her ass, holding her to him. The other he has removed from under her shirt and is currently resting at the back of her neck, his thumb gently tracing her jawline - somewhat inexplicably, as he's never before felt the urge to do that. Resting his forehead against hers, noses touching, his eyes drift closed; he feels so relaxed, and he's trying and failing to remember the last time he felt so at peace… Taking a breath, he speaks, dropping the hand at her neck back to her hip as he does so,

" _You'd better get back before Dick realises you're missing…"_

He feels her shift, drawing her face back and he opens his eyes. She's scrutinising him, biting her lip in uncertainty, and suddenly he feels the need to reassure her - seems like she's not the only one experiencing 'firsts',

" _C'mon Princess; you're not going to try and tell me you want another detention?"_

She's quirked her eyebrow in amusement, and he almost kisses her in his relief,

" _Well, who's to say I don't? I mean, this one hasn't turned out so bad; has it?"_

He grins rakishly, tightening his grip around her waist,

" _Not so bad, huh? Well, I did tell you that you couldn't ignore me if you tried…"_

" _Who says I tried?"_

Even as she makes the joke, her face betrays a hint vulnerability in there; he buries his face in the crook of her neck just because he can, and feels one of her hands bury itself in her hair,

" _Claire?"_

" _Yeah?"_

" _I don't… Those… That thing I said about us never walking down the hallway together… I-"_

" _I don't think I can go back to ignoring you on Monday; the others either…"_

" _Me neither."_

" _Good."_

And somehow, they each know without saying it out loud what the other means.

She knows the wallet girls aren't real, and that they're just another part of the John Bender fuck-the-world show. She knows she wants it to be her that gets him to toss the pictures, and maybe exchange them for just one.

He knows her Prom Queen, purer-and-holier-than-thou, Princess routine isn't the be all and end all of her world. He knows she wants more than that, _different_ than that, and shit, if he doesn't want to be the one to help her find that 'different'.

They know they'll fight - they wouldn't be them if they didn't - but they'll make up afterwards.

They'll have each other, but most of all they'll have the Breakfast Club, and as he sweetly, tentatively kisses her goodbye in front of her Dad's car, in front of the school, Claire thinks she'll quite like having this gentle John Bender to herself.

Her friends won't know what they're missing; so much the better.


End file.
